“Anne! Annie, wake up! We’re almost there!” The tall, slender woman in her late forties reached across the cab of the U-Haul van and gently wobbled the shoulder of the curly headed girl in the passenger seat. Anne, who’d been in a deep sleep for the last few hours groggily opened her eyes and stared blankly out the window for a few moments.

“Nice.” She said. Indeed it was. The van was curling its way through the suburbs of southern Orange County. Wealth and prosperity were indelibly stamped upon every object that met the eye. Graceful, manicured palm trees lined the boulevards, surrounded by hedges of pampas grass. California was in full bloom, and everywhere the girl looked she saw bright splashes of color.

“So this is where you grew up?”
“More or less. We moved here in the mid 50’s after Dad died, when I was about fifteen.” Alice stared ahead absently, memories flooding over her as she drove through her old neighborhood.

“He died of a stroke right?”
“Heart problems actually. He was very young, and it was all very sudden. I’m sure I’ve told you all this before Annie.”

“Oh you have. I just like to hear you talk about your family. You didn’t do that much when Dad was- ” The observant girl caught a glimpse of her mother’s hardening profile and decided to change tactics.

“Tell me the part about Aunt Ingrid again.”

Alice sighed and smiled wearily. Over the past several months she must have repeated this story at least a thousand times. But Annie seemed to find it an unending source of entertainment, so her mother obliged. In a sing-song told-it-a hundred-times voice she began:

“When my dad died, he was still a fairly young man. He and mother hadn’t been prepared for it at all. Financially, I mean. We had very little savings, and most of the money Dad made was tied up in his business. We were living in Connecticut. Aunt Ingrid was in Italy then, and when she- ”

“Mo-o-om! You left out the part about what she was doing!”

“Oh fine then! Would you care to tell the story instead? ”
Alice’s retort was met with expectant silence. She glared a mock threat at her offspring, and continued.

“Aunt Ingrid was living in Florence. She was studying art history at the Academy, and working on a book she hoped to publish. She was in her forties then. Huh…” grunted Alice, absent mindedly. “Close to my age.”

“Anyway, when she heard about Dad, she packed up everything and left. Mother was her baby sister and they had always been awfully close. Aunt Ingrid didn’t have to ask to know that we were in a pretty difficult position. She arrived in Connecticut a few weeks after Dad’s funeral, and it was decided that as soon as she found a place to live in the States we would move in with her. Her parents- your great-grandparents- were still living in California, making it the most logical choice. Aunt Ingrid bought a house from an old friend, and we joined her a few months later. So, that’s how we came to live with Aunt Ingrid.”

“Ok, now tell me more stories about her. Who was the friend?”

“I’ve told you before- I don’t know who he was. His name was Frank Morris. His brother was an actor, and I think Aunt Ingrid was involved with him somehow. But that’s all I know about it. Aunt and Mother were always quite tight-lipped about the whole affair.”

“Ok, well tell me another one then- like the time she bought her car.”

“Annie, we’ll be there in fifteen minutes. You can ask her yourself when we arrive.”

“Ok, ok. Do you think she still drives it?”

“I wouldn’t be surprised. It’d be just like her. I imagine they’d have to pry the keys out of her fingers with a crow-bar. Now, try and comb out your mop so she doesn’t take us for a pair of bums off the street.”

“Is she cranky?” inquired Annie, as she began mining her mother’s purse in search of a comb. Alice grinned at her twelve year old daughter who gazed back with eyes that were carbon copies of those belonging to Ingrid Delaney.

“That depends, child o’ mine. Would you consider yourself a ‘cranky’ person?”

Annie began wrestling the comb through her thick black curls. After a few moments of outer battle and inner reflection she said “Are you saying that Aunt Ingrid and me have similar personalities?”

Alice merely laughed and turned left onto the road leading into Ingrid’s neighborhood. As they approached Ingrid’s street, Alice’s face grew tense and pale. Anne sensed her mother’s nervous excitement, and wished she could stop the crawling sensation in her own stomach.

“Anne, you’ll remember your promise to me, won’t you?”“About Dad?”
“Yes, about your father. There are many things that I want to share with Aunt Ingrid myself. It’s best if you don’t speak about him with her.”

“Did she like it when you married him Mom?”

A long, taut pause ensued.

“No. She didn’t. And I’ll save you the trouble of asking if that’s the reason we’vehardly ever visited her before by saying that you’re right. I could count the times I've seen Ingrid in the past 15 years on one hand. ”

“Mom?”

“Yes Sherlock?”

“You’re really nervous, huh?”

“It’ll be over in a few minutes- look, here’s her street now. Hasn’t changed a- what-the?”

Alice slowed the van to a snail’s pace and carefully navigated onto Berkley Street. There was the gracious old house, the old Packard in the drive. The garden still overflowed with all the same old fashioned wildflowers. However, the fire truck was something of a shock, as were the thick clouds of black smoke that were billowing through the open doors and windows.

Alice sped down the street as quickly as she dared, and brought the van to a screeching halt a few yards from the fire truck. She jumped blindly from the cab, and Annie watched her mother run madly up the driveway to the front walk. A burly firefighter in full garb grabbed her by the arm and asked where she thought she was going.

“My- I… I don’t… My aunt! She lives here! I’m just…!” stammered Alice, attempting to pull away. The firefighter was having a hard time understanding her above the din of the trucks and other men, and had absolutely no intention of letting this crazy woman near the house. An ambulance careened around the corner, sirens blaring and Alice truly began to panic. “AUNT INGRID! WHERE ARE YOU?” she shrieked, her voice piercing the chaos.

Just then Annie observed a wiry, white haired woman coming round the back of the fire truck. She was wearing a bright red house dress, and clutching an enormous grey cat to the bosom of her white ruffled apron. The bottom half of the apron was charred almost beyond recognition. She marched over to the firefighter and whacked him on the arm. Annie rolled down the window, attempting to hear what she was saying.

“That’s my niece you big dolt! Unhand her!” howled the elderly woman. The firefighter grinned and stepped back. It was obviously Aunt Ingrid. She shoved the cat into his hands, and held out her arms to Alice. “Welcome home!” she bellowed, over the all the noise and confusion of the moment. Alice stared a moment, then embraced her aunt, weeping and laughing, and Annie heard her say “You tried to cook for us, didn’t you, old darling?”